involuntary memory cont. 3

I'm in white waters trying to steer this sturdy old dinghy through the percolating, acidic bath of involuntary memories. God damn it, just seconds ago my horizon was crisply stretched out, its infinity smilingly parting both the sea and sky with me as smooth sailing cartographer of reality. But the nature of a memory never rests assure in pure reflection, a mere refraction; it stubbornly insists on looking behind the mirror, like a child expecting to find himself behind its tain - and so once again the heavens plunge into the depths and the abyss ascends its nothingness, disrupting my true north. Paradoxically that which you expect to find behind the mirror is realized in your search; once you come to know that the imitation game is mere mockery, that you no longer experience something else than your own self, it seems as if the horizon shoots straight behind your back, all you are left with are God's thoughts before creation. But we're not quite there yet, right now the effervescence of memory is culling my reality. With every one of these hellish bubbles bursting I am sprayed with mirthless foam, tossed around in delirium and granted a reliving of that enigma: our string was vibrating to Fate, waiting to be plucked as the monstrous wheel turned seemingly by itself. These memories, familiar though unrecognised, aggressively beckoning, require my grasp to 'di-still', just as I remain a fold-in-myself until I am seized by them. Yes, this seems to be the landscape of necessity, but wherefrom cometh and what conditions this dreadful lingering? Those are strange waters that make you tarry before reaching the eye of the storm, even my breathing comes to a false start, caught by a mechanical, constricting force. This now, I realize, seems to be the case: I have come to know what the memory is supposed to be, and so by way of mediation - that is: in entering my knowledge - the immediacy that it is, or rather was, has changed the necessity of its being completely. Or I suppose you could say I simply remembered. Right, I feel the life energy of this memory rapidly depleting before its explication, but the gauge of my interest indicates something or maybe someone much bigger about to make a direct hit and it all centres in on the power of my now.